


Graceless

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Divorce, M/M, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole mess was so debilitating that Karl couldn't see it all unfolding again, right before his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graceless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1297](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=1297).



The first thing he does after he signs the papers is crack open a beer. The second thing he does is call John, speed dial number four after his parents, Nat and Chris. There's something mindless on the television, some game show that tests your smarts. He doesn't understand the reality television obsession of trying to show how smart or how talented you are; in the end, everyone's average and everything is pointless.

"Hey, man, what's up?" John says when he answers. Karl squints, suddenly left without a thought in his head, no idea how to articulate what he's just done.

He settles on, "I did it." A few silent seconds pass.

"Shit, man." John goes quiet and Karl hears a noise that sounds like papers being shuffled around. "I'd say 'congratulations' but that might be...I dunno. Not good."

Karl laughs against the metal rim of his beer can. "No, not too good. But I know what you mean."

"You need a break," John says. "You should come and spend a few days over here. Hang out and get your mind off things."

"Yeah," Karl agrees, before he can stop himself. He knows damn well it's a bad idea, but the idea is just so comforting. He lifts the remote control and changes the channel. "You sure Kerri won't mind?"

"Nah. She's hardly ever here anyway."

Karl doesn't know what that means but he doesn't want to ask. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and thinks about sitting on John's sofa instead of his own. He remembers it fondly from past visits; it's huge and beige and comfortable as all get-out.

"Okay, then," he says. "If you're sure."

*

John is all smiles when Karl arrives with his suitcase in hand, pulling him into a tight, warm hug. He's dressed casually in a white T-shirt with a low, low V-neck collar and ratty jeans, no shoes or socks. In a way, it's better than if he'd worn something more formal. Karl smothers a smile into the warm cotton against John's shoulder.

"Thanks again for having me," he says for the third or fourth time, once he's in John's kitchen, suitcase squirreled away in a guest room. John shrugs and tosses him a cold beer, which he catches easily.

"Stop thanking me already. You're great company."

Karl smiles, opening the beer with a cool pop and hiss. "So where's the wife and little bugger, then?"

"Oh...out of town. Visiting Kerri's mom." John smiles slightly and shrugs, leaning the small of his back against the counter as he opens his own drink, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You couldn't have come at a better time, really."

"I like Kerri. She's a great girl." Karl shrugs, sitting down on one of the stools beside the barren kitchen island. "And Kage is just about the cutest little rugrat around."

John nods sagely. "Good genes."

"Sure." Karl nods back and grins. "Hers."

" _Obviously_ ," John drawls, rolling his eyes. They both laugh easily.

"So how long will she be gone?"

"I don't really know, to tell you the... Hey, did I tell you? We got an old arcade console. Space Invaders."

Karl's jaw drops. "You're kidding."

"Would I kid about this?" John straightens up and waves for Karl to follow him through to the back of the house. "Come on, I'll show you," he says.

Karl throws one last disinterested glance around the kitchen; then he picks up his beer and scurries after John.

*

"All right, mate," Karl says a few hours later, patting John's knee. He pries himself up from his slouch on the sofa and shakes his empty beer can a little before setting it down on the table next to a pizza box that's equally empty, save for a few discarded crusts. "My eyes are killing me from all that Space Invaders we played. I'm calling it a night."

"You sure?" John asks. He motions to the television with the remote. "But Jimmy Kimmel's on."

"He doesn't need me when he's got you." Karl smiles and stands, yawning into the crook of his arm. "Extra linens in the closet, right?"

John smiles up at him. "Right. Use whatever you need."

"Right, then. 'Night, John."

"'Night, Karl."

Karl ambles into the guest room and strips down to his boxers, then goes to the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. When he's done, he wanders into the hall to peer out at John, who's still watching television, one hand on the remote and the other buried in his dark hair, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach. Karl licks his lips and goes back into his temporary room, climbing into bed and falling asleep in the center of the mattress, on top of the sheets.

When he wakes up after six to take a piss, he hears noise coming from the living room and he looks out to spot John doing push-ups, shirtless, the television still on in the background. Karl thinks it must have been the television that he heard, until John grunts in frustration and he recognizes the sound. John bows his head, biceps tensing and shaking as he continues on, and Karl wonders just how many push-ups he's already done.

Then he wonders if John ever even went to bed.

Three hours later, Karl goes into the kitchen, dying for coffee. He blinks in surprise when he finds John already there, pouring out a steaming mug full.

"Sleep okay?" John asks, lifting his brow and looking—for all intents and purposes—like the most well-rested man in the world.

"Not bad," Karl says. He takes the mug from John and sips slowly.

*

A few days pass. They go out for meals sometimes but mostly order in. They play video games, going back and forth between the arcade console in John's garage and his Wii and Xbox. They play basketball in John's half-court and sometimes John lets him win.

"Heard from Kerri?" Karl asks randomly one night, as they're flipping between bad movies on cable. John's got more television channels than a man could ever hope to watch in his life.

"Yeah," John says, his jaw moving in a way that suggests he's got something stuck in his teeth. He doesn't take his eyes off the television screen. "She's good. Kage is having fun so they might stay a while longer."

Karl quirks a brow. "You'd think she'd want to take advantage of the time when you're here and not rushing off to a film set every day."

"I guess she's used to it." John shifts to his feet suddenly. "Be right back, gotta pee," he says as he walks off.

Once he's gone, Karl looks to the iPhone sitting on the coffee table and picks it up. John's screen protector password is easy to guess: Kage's birth date. When the device opens up to him, he flicks to the log of recent calls and looks over the received and outgoing lists. No Kerri. Only fast-food and delivery numbers, and then, going a few days back, a single call received from Karl Urban.

"Hey," he hears, and it sounds a little stiff. Karl looks up and sees John, standing there and staring at the iPhone still in his hand. For a moment, John looks pissed—betrayed, maybe. Annoyed and hurt. But then he laughs, a nervous little thing, and walks back to the sofa, taking the phone from Karl and immediately fiddling with it, pulling up his list of apps.

"If you wanted to play around with my phone, you could have just asked," he says. Karl feels an incinerating sting in his chest.

"John...you don't—"

"Ah," John utters, lifting a hand for Karl to stop speaking. His smile is so harsh that it's a grimace. "Let's just... Let's not do this right now. Okay?"

Karl drums his fingers on his knees. "When?"

"I don't know. Just not right now." John chews on his lip and starts scrolling through apps, going quiet for a few minutes. When he finally speaks again, his voice is lower in volume, strained. "I got this app that acts like a magic eight ball. Wanna see?"

"Yeah," Karl says, and leans closer to look.

*

Karl turns over his sleep and adjusts his pillow beneath him, cracking his eyes open to peer at the nightstand clock. It's way too early to wake up yet, so he settles back into a doze.

It seems like mere seconds later when he feels the mattress shift under him, a weight settling somewhere near the edge. When he opens his eyes and adjusts to the darkness, he can see the outline of John's back and shoulders, the graceful curve of his neck as he hangs his head, his fists balled at his sides and pressed against the bed.

Karl licks his lips. They're dry after hours of sleep. "What happened?" he whispers. He waits for John to answer, listens closely as he takes shaky, painful-sounding breaths.

"We're separated," John finally says. The admission hits the humid night air like a heavy shoe thudding against a wall. "She left."

"Fuck." Karl kicks away the small bit of bed sheet draped over his legs and sits up groggily. "Fuck, John. I didn't—"

"It's not so bad," John interrupts. Karl squints and makes out the fine point of John's chin, the shiny slope of his cheek. "It's better than the fighting. The fucking... _constant_ fighting. And then the crying...Kage, that is. I mean, that kid can sense _everything_ ; it's fucking uncanny." He runs a hand over his face, ending at his chin, which he grips between his fingers as he thinks. "I'm doing okay, aren't I? I mean, I'm trying."

"Yeah, John. You're doing great." Karl exhales, shaking his head. "I wish you would have said something. I didn't have to come. I'm...I'm okay now, you know."

He lets himself say it even though it's not true. He's not okay, hasn't been for ages; signing the papers should have been a relief, a point of closure, but it only made things worse. It's the giving up that hurts the most—one signature and he loses everything, years of investment in love and family. Karl thinks that he can't imagine anything worse; except, perhaps, the dejected look on his friend's face that mirrors all the bad things brewing inside him.

He's a royal shit for letting this slip right under his nose, is what he is.

"I wanted you here," John says, turning his head and risking a slight smile. And despite the visible cracks in the surface, he still looks strong and assured, sitting there in a tank top and shorts, hair sticking up everywhere. He looks handsome as hell. "So don't go blaming yourself for any of this, or I'll throw a basketball at your head."

Karl smirks. "Again, you mean?"

"Yeah." John keeps smiling as he looks around, as if appraising the contents of the room. It's not much, really—just a bed and a dresser and some knickknacks here and there, and a misplaced Kiwi. "My bedroom's sort of..." John trails off, scratching his head, and Karl just nods and shifts over.

"Stay," he says.

John hesitates and then nods, lying down on his stomach in the vacated space. He curls his arms beneath him and tucks a fist beneath his jaw, ignoring the pillow completely. Karl takes a moment to adjust his body on the bed and get comfortable; when he looks over at John again, he's already out like a light.

*

In the morning, Karl wakes to John's nose poking against the crook of his neck, a strong arm draped protectively across his chest. John appears to be a light sleeper; as soon as Karl utters a single, small sound of confusion, John's lifting his head and assessing the situation at hand with half-lidded eyes.

"Sorry," he murmurs, on the verge of looking embarrassed. "I'm used to—y'know, with—"

"S'okay," Karl says. And it is; he doesn't mind a bit. He brings a hand up to touch John's side and almost gasps when he makes contact. John is so ridiculously warm, his skin radiating heat like a madcap furnace, to the extent that Karl half-worries that he's running a fever. He doesn't move his hand away, though, just shifts it upward, his thumb stretching out to caress the coarse, dark hair that fans out from John's armpit. John jerks and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper and it's then that Karl shifts back. "Shit. I didn't—"

"Oh, god," John rasps.

He leans down and kisses Karl fiercely, like the life force will leave his body if he doesn't, and Karl blinks before he grips John possessively and pulls him close. He's still so hot—Karl doesn't know how he got so hot, but he wants to be pressed against every inch of him.

"John," he manages, with every fleeting ounce of sense he can muster. "Are you sure you want...? You're not really—"

"Fuck, Karl, are you _blind_?" John groans. He bites the rising jut of Karl's collarbone, licks at the small hollow. "I've had a crush on you for _years_. But it was never—"

"The right time," Karl finishes, nodding. He presses his face against John's wild hair, huffs a shallow breath. "Yeah. Now, though..."

"Now," John agrees.

They kiss messily and fumble with the sheets, rumpled around them like discarded skins, wrestling with each other's scant clothing until it's all off and forgotten. Karl grabs John and rolls him onto his back, settling between his legs and slowly dragging their cocks together, both already on their way to full hardness. John makes a noise like a pained animal, open and raw, and he scratches down Karl's back, causing his hips to thrust forward. Then John makes the noise again, a bit softer. Karl murmurs encouragement into his ear as he rolls his hips—he's doing most of the work because John needs this, needs _him_ , and maybe one day he'll get to witness John's prowess but that day doesn't have to be today. Miraculously, they've suddenly got the one thing they never seem to have: time.

"Feels so good, Karl," John says, throwing his head back with breathy, stuttering sounds. Their nipples catch just as the heads of their cocks bump together and John gasps, the muscles in his arms shaking the way they did when Karl saw him doing push-ups. "Please, just—just like that, _yes_ , fuck."

"Just like this, yeah. Go on, John, come on."

It takes a few more heavy thrusts of Karl's hips, but then John is arching and coming with a loud cry, his release hitting both of their chests. It's still so hot and the added dampness heightens everything, renders the air between their bodies nearly _tropical_ , and Karl kisses John one last time before he digs his fingertips into the bed and comes harder than he has in months. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

The last thing he sees before he shuts his eyes is the corner of John's mouth, curving upwards to a place it hasn't dared to go in days, maybe longer.

*

Karl's sofa isn't comfortable. It's lumpy and an ugly shade of blue, somewhere between cornflower and navy, wrecked with stains that the kids collected over time. He misses John's sofa something fierce; mostly, he misses John sitting on the sofa, any sofa, handing him fresh beers and convincing him to watch _Love Boat_ reruns at two in the morning.

He had to go, really. Kerri was coming back to square things away and Karl knew full well that John didn't need any witnesses for that. It's a private thing, divorce—a messy and horrid nightmare that unfolds between one unlucky person and one other unlucky person that ought to proceed as quickly as possible, like a blood test or a punch to the face. Then it's over and you move on. Or you pass out, drooling, on the carpet.

Try as he might, Karl can't find a single channel playing anything good, though he doesn't have nearly as many as John. He downs the last of his beer quickly and drops the can on the table, about to call it a night when the doorbell rings. It's half past one. He knows exactly who it is.

"Jesus, that's a long flight," John says, exasperated, as soon as Karl opens the door. He's got a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a suitcase resting on the ground, clothes and hair disheveled. He leans his hand against the doorframe and sighs. "Please tell me you've got beer."

"For you? Always."

Karl takes John's hand and leads him to his unsatisfactory sofa, upon which John slumps lazily, as though he's always belonged there. He looks tired and jetlagged, eyes puffy from the long trip, but he somehow seems wide awake, already hunting for the remote. Karl smirks and kisses him, then goes to fetch more beer. And if he doesn't get to sleep tonight, well, it's no big loss.


End file.
